


We Will Always Be Seeing

by AndiinaRaethTash



Series: When All We Had Was Eternity [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 16:52:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19480075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndiinaRaethTash/pseuds/AndiinaRaethTash
Summary: Lacuna: a blank space, a missing part.Subtle changes did nothing. But Kanan regretted ever taking more drastic action.





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit later than I meant to update, but work decided today was a good day to screw me over. Yippee.  
> Two things before we start: first, this was originally supposed to be a six-part series. It will now be a seven-part series, with the seventh part being a collection of one-shots in this universe. You'll notice pretty quickly that there was a bit of a time-jump between this part and the last, and it won't be the only one, so I wanted to fill in the gaps a bit.  
> The second thing is that while I waited till the end to apologize last time, I'm going to go ahead and apologize now.  
> I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

Kanan was walking along the perimeter of Chopper Base on Atollon when his comlink went off. That was the first sign that the day was going to be any different than any other in the last four months; everything had been calm, boring, even, since Malachor. The crew of the  _ Ghost  _ hadn't been assigned any missions bigger than simple supply runs and scouting trips since then, and Kanan had never been invited to come along on those.

That was why he knew this day was going to be different. No one contacted him via comlink unless it was for a mission; otherwise, they would have to actively seek him out in order to talk to him.

He'd been distancing himself since Malachor, since he'd lost… he'd lost a part of himself on that planet. Last time around had been more bearable; he could function without his sight.

He couldn't function without Ezra.

The boy had insisted on bringing Maul with him to the Sith temple, leaving Kanan and Ahsoka to scale the temple from the other side. The two former Jedi had managed to defeat the two Inquisitors, somehow, despite the fact that Maul never showed up to help them, but the moment Kanan had turned to follow Maul and Ezra to the top of the temple, he'd felt pain, the kind of surprised agony that came from an unexpected attack. Fear, enough to freeze his blood in his veins. Then nothing, absolutely nothing in a way that made his stomach drop like the ground had just fallen from under his feet. 

He'd stumbled, only to have Ahsoka catch him and drag him to his feet. She'd been yelling, something about leaving, about the Sith, Vader, coming, but he couldn't hear her. His mind was too busy reeling from the sudden loss. She'd dragged him on board the  _ Phantom _ , and he hadn't fought her until the door was closing and the ship was rising. Then he'd screamed and tried to pound the door open, demanding that they turn around, that they find Ezra, that he was hurt and scared and  _ alone,  _ and  _ why couldn't Ahsoka feel that?  _

She'd held him back while he screamed, and let him struggle against her when the temple exploded behind them. It was later, halfway through the silent ride home, that she showed him what had landed at her feet right before Kanan's collapse.

The ruined, twisted pieces of Ezra's lightsaber.

He'd lost it then, had broken down sobbing as he finally accepted what the complete absence of Ezra in his mind meant. Ahsoka had gently rubbed his back while he grieved, and if she was silently crying, too, neither Kanan nor Chopper, who was mournfully silent while he piloted them home, said anything about it.

That had been his last mission in months. Commander Sato and Ahsoka had ganged up with Hera and the medics on base to get him placed on leave, until he had “recovered from the trauma of losing his Padawan.” Apparently, he was too unbalanced to be trusted to carry out any mission.

Losing his Padawan wasn't what had unbalanced him, though. What had unbalanced him was that it was entirely and completely Kanan's fault. If he hadn't tried to keep events from unfolding the same way, if he hadn't let Maul go with Ezra, if he hadn't been so  _ selfish, _ then Ezra would still be alive. He'd only let the Zabrak go with his Padawan because he thought he wouldn't hurt him. How wrong he'd been. He should have let himself be blinded. It would have hurt less.

His comlink chirped again, dragging him back to the present. Sighing, he unclipped it from his belt. “Jarrus here.”

Hera's voice sounded stressed over the com. “I need you to be on the  _ Ghost  _ in ten minutes.”

“Hera,” Kanan grimaced as he ran his hand through his hair. “You know I'm not allowed on missions.”

“This isn't a mission. A group of refugees from an Imperial prison have entered the system. We’re to escort them to the base.”

Kanan frowned, unsure as to why he was needed, but nodded, ignoring that Hera couldn't see that through the comlink. “Fine. See you there.”

_______

The escort itself was uneventful. Kanan sat in the copilot's seat, trying to ignore the fact that he was in the cockpit for the first time since before Malachor. Hera was quiet next to him, except to issue orders over the comm channel to the cruiser that held the escapees.

It wasn't until after the cruiser had docked that he found out why the  _ Ghost  _ had been tasked with escorting it. The two who were in charge, a human male with greying hair and his wife, whose lined face was no less beautiful for her apparent age, had immediately registered as vaguely familiar to Kanan. He approached them in the main hangar of the command ship, trailing behind Hera as she marched toward them. 

The two looked up as Kanan and Hera drew nearer. The man stepped forward, slightly in front of his wife, and crossed his arms defensively. “I assume you are in charge here?” He asked Hera, his dark blue eyes assessing her for threats. 

Hera stopped a few feet away from him and kept her hands at her sides, away from any weapons. He was obviously tense from who-knows-how-many years of imprisonment, and protective of his wife, to boot. She didn't want to set him off.

“I'm Captain Hera Syndulla of the  _ Ghost. _ I'm in charge of Phoenix Squadron, but if you're looking for the Commander, he's waiting for you on the bridge.”

The man turned to his wife, who nodded. Warily, they followed Hera and Kanan through the carrier ship. Hera made sure to point out the major highlights- storage centers, the mess, barracks, and such- while Kanan tried to figure out where he had seen them before. He tried not to stare, but the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that  _ he should know who these people are _ would not go away.

Commander Sato was waiting for them at the bridge. As they approached, he quickly stepped away from the holotable he’d been working at and extended his hand toward the pair. “I'm Commander Sato. I'd like to welcome you and all you've brought with you to Chopper Base. Anything we can do to help you, let us know.”

The woman smiled and spoke for the first time as she shook his hand. “Thank you, Commander. Your welcome is most appreciated. The two of us are the unofficial leaders of the former prisoners; we're-”

Kanan hadn't intended to cut her off, but the moment she'd spoken, he recognized her voice. He'd never heard it in person, but he had heard it- in one of Ezra's dreams that had leaked over their bond one night while Kanan couldn't sleep. He realized why they looked familiar; he'd seen younger versions of them in the one holo Ezra had had of the three of them. Because they were-

“Ephraim and Mira Bridger.” His voice was husky and low, but at the sound of it, the Bridgers, Hera, and Sato all turned, the latter two looking shocked, the former suspicious.

“Do we know you?” Ephraim asked warily.

Kanan shook his head and fought to keep his voice steady. “No, we've never met. But I knew your son.”

At his words, dawning comprehension crossed Commander Sato's face, and he stepped back, enough that he could still hear the conversation and step in if needed, but far enough that he wasn't intruding on what he knew would be a private conversation.

At the same time, Hera put her hand over her mouth, tears gathering in her eyes at Kanan's use of the past tense. It still hurt her to think that Ezra was gone.

The Bridgers’ reaction was the complete opposite. Ephraim's jaw dropped slightly, like he couldn't believe that this stranger in front of him had anything to do with his family. Mira's eyes lit up, the hope and joy in her expression stabbing at Kanan's heart.

“You've met Ezra? Is he here?” Mira whispered excitedly.

Kanan hesitated, debating on how to answer. He knew firsthand how hard it was to hear that your child was gone, but he also knew there was no way to soften the blow. Taking a deep breath, he answered, “Yeah, I met him. Our crew, we took him in a couple years ago. He… he was part of our family.”

His voice cracked at the last word and he looked down at the floor. In front of him, he heard Ephraim inhale sharply before demanding in a low voice, “Was? What do you mean, he  _ was _ part of your family?”

“Ephraim…” Mira whispered, clutching his sleeve and twisting it as realization broke across her face.

All Kanan could say was, “I'm sorry.”

He glanced up to see the tears gathering in Mira's jewel-blue eyes, so like Ezra's in color. Behind her, Ephraim was frozen in shock, obviously not comprehending what this stranger was apologizing for. 

Mira finally swallowed and asked, “How? How'd you meet him, how did he....”She couldn't finish the sentence.

Kanan clenched his fists at his side. “We met on a job on Lothal. He was stealing a crate of blasters we were going to steal. He was so strong in the Force, you know. Stronger easily than me. I offered to train him. I… I took him with me to Malachor, a few months ago. We got separated, and…”

Hera set her hand on his back, trying to give him some measure of comfort. “We all failed him that day. I wasn't even… Zeb, Sabine, and I weren't even there.”

Ephraim's voice was choked when he finally used it. “You mean to tell me, that if we'd gotten out just a few  _ months  _ earlier, we could have seen our boy?”

Kanan just nodded, not trusting his voice. At the sound of Ephraim's sob, though, he looked up and managed to softly repeat, “I'm  _ sorry. _ ”

Mira just nodded. She obviously had nothing to say, too shocked at having been given hope of seeing her son again, only to have it ripped away. Kanan squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before turning and practically fleeing out of the room.


	2. Mourning

Ahsoka found Kanan a few hours later, meditating at the edge of the base's perimeter. She slowly sat next to him, keeping her eyes fixed on the horizon. After a few minutes of silence, she finally broke it.

"I'm sorry." When he didn't respond, she continued. "I should have warned you that that's who you were meeting. After you asked me to keep an ear out for activity in Imperial prisons in that sector, I put two and two together. You were trying to reunite Ezra and his parents, weren't you?"

Kanan exhaled shakily. "I guess it was a fool's hope. Even when we got them out alive, he's not around for the reunion." He opened his eyes and glanced at her sidelong. "Yes, a bit of warning would have been nice. But I'd have had to meet them eventually, and I wouldn’t want them to have to hear it from someone else."

Ahsoka leaned toward him slightly, concern on her face. "But?"

Kanan blinked hard and fixed his gaze on the horizon. "But it's a lot. They're here and he's not, and part of me says that it should be the opposite, but then another part hates myself for thinking that, and I don't know if I'm even supposed to be happy that they're here."

She just nodded. "I don't think they blame you, for the fact that he's gone or that you wish it had been them instead of him. That's part of being a parent; you want your child to be okay, even at the expense of others."

Kanan glanced at her, trying to decide if she was speaking from experience. Eventually, he decided it didn't matter. "I don't wish it had been them _instead of_ him, I just… I wanted to free them to give Ezra his family back, but they're free and he's not… he's not even kriffing _here._ " He swiped at his eyes, trying hard to maintain his fragile and already cracking composure. "It shouldn't have been him. It shouldn't have… it should have been _me._ I was supposed to protect him, and I _didn’t_.”

Ahsoka rested her hand on his arm. “You couldn’t have protected him forever. Eventually, you would have had to let him go, let him find his own way through the galaxy, make his own choices.” At Kanan’s soft scoff, she frowned. “Kanan, you can’t protect anyone forever. Even without the Empire, without the Sith, you can’t be there constantly for your loved ones. But if you love them, if you respect them, if you trust them, then you have to trust that they’ll find their way back to you.”

Kanan didn’t look at her. “How can he find his way back if he’s gone? Because he’s kriffing _gone_ , Ahsoka, and no amount of trust is going to change that.”

“You can trust that he knew what he was doing.” Ahsoka’s voice was gentle but firm as she stood. “If he believed that what he was doing was worth dying for, then respect that. And don’t stop living just because he did. He wouldn’t want that.”

As she turned and walked back to base, Kanan stared at the sun sinking into the desert planet’s horizon, turning her words over in his head. Eventually, he sighed. Maybe she was right; maybe he needed to let them all go. Hadn’t that been what he’d been trying to teach Ezra when he’d laid down his life? 

No. He’d known it was his time, he’d _made_ the decision to die. Ezra hadn’t; the shock and fear Kanan had felt in Ezra’s last moments were proof enough of that. If Ezra wasn’t ready to die, how was Kanan supposed to be ready to let him go? 

He couldn’t expect Ahsoka to understand that. As much as she’d been fond of Ezra, she wasn’t his Master, his parent in all but blood. She hadn’t made an oath to protect him, hadn’t comforted him after a nightmare, hadn’t watched with pride as the street-rat from Lothal turned into a Jedi. 

Hadn’t felt a bond that had slowly but surely been growing into a real connection shatter like glass.

Why? Why was he cursed to fail the people who depended on him? First his Master, now Ezra. And he’d even been given a second chance to make things right, only to screw everything up and somehow make it _worse._ The shattered remains of both bonds on the edge of his mind taunted him, aching whenever he let himself acknowledge that they existed. Dimly he remembered telling Ezra that the bond would always remain, even if one of them died, and he wished that it didn’t. He wished he didn’t have the constant reminder of how badly he failed hovering literally at the back of his mind. 

With a sigh, he closed his eyes and pushed away the unrelenting thoughts. Regardless of his feelings, Ahsoka was right about one thing: he couldn’t stop living. There were still things he could change, people he could save.

And the rest of the crew needed him. He couldn’t abandon them, not after they’d already lost so much. Standing, he brushed the dust off of his pants and slowly walked back toward the base, or more accurately, toward the _Ghost,_ where the rest of the crew would be waiting.

Losing Ezra had been hard on all of them. It had been hard on Zeb, who, although he’d never admit it, had come to see the kid as a little brother. He’d taken every mission he could since then, eager to hurt the Empire the way they had been hurt. 

It had been hard on Chopper, who Kanan had found in the room Zeb and Ezra had shared, warbling softly that he wouldn’t play any more pranks on Ezra if he’d just _come home._ The droid had nearly completely shut down upon learning that Ezra wasn’t coming back, couldn’t come back, and he had only recently begun actually interacting with the rest of the crew. 

It had been hard on Sabine, who had embraced being an older sister again with the same passion with which she’d thrown herself into a search for hope. She had refused to believe he was dead, arguing furiously that they hadn’t seen it happen, they hadn’t found a body, and thus they had no proof that he was dead. It had taken her months of searching airwaves, databases, and reports before she finally came to Kanan one night, whispering “he’s really gone, isn’t he?” before breaking down. He’d held her as she finally allowed herself to accept what she’d spent the last few months denying: Ezra was dead.

And it had been hard on Hera. Force, had it been hard on her. She had kept everyone else going, not just the Spectres, but the rest of Phoenix Cell as well, making sure that Zeb slept between missions, Chopper recharged, and Sabine took breaks during her search for answers. She comforted Kanan when his dreams brought him back to Malachor, and somehow still managed to coordinate the rest of the cell, leading missions and managing supply runs. 

He’d only seen her break down twice: once after a particularly bad nightmare, when he’d begged Hera for it all to be a dream, to _please let Ezra be alright, please, Hera._ The second time had been the morning after Sabine had given up, when Kanan had led the girl into the common room. Hera had taken one look at Sabine’s face and known. She had pulled the young Mandalorian into her arms, and they’d held onto each other as they both grieved. Otherwise, she’d been durasteel walls and dutiful focus, never letting the cracks show or they would shatter her. 

Kanan sighed as he reached the _Ghost’s_ ramp, pausing for a moment. They had all deserved better, and Kanan wished desperately for a third chance to do it all over again, and get it _right_ this time. Closing his eyes, he reached out for the Force, trying not to focus on the gaping wound in his mind where his bond with Ezra was, screaming into it a broken plea to let him make it right again.

But the Force either didn’t hear him, didn’t care, or was laughing at him for ruining the second chance he’d already been given, so with an exhausted sigh, he opened his eyes and boarded the _Ghost._

Hera was in the cockpit, tuning up the steering mechanisms. When he stepped in, she didn’t look up, just called over her shoulder, “I’ll be with you in a minute, Zeb, just let me finish up…” As she scowled in concentration, Kanan settled himself in the co-pilot’s seat, watching her work with a faint smile.

After a minute or two, Hera sighed and set the spanner, wiping her brow with her sleeve as she slid out from under the console. The moment she saw Kanan, her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Kanan? I thought you were Zeb.”

“I could tell,” Kanan said with a soft laugh. Her concerned expression made him want to squirm, feeling like a bug under a microscope. Shifting in his seat, he avoided her eyes. “How’re they all settling in?”

Hera sighed and pulled herself up. “As well as can be expected, I guess. Most of the prisoners want to get back to their lives, even though they can’t. A few have volunteered to help the Rebellion, but… most have asked to leave. Commander Sato and Ahsoka are working on getting them set up with new identities and new lives, which is going to take a while, but most of them are civilians. We aren’t about to drag them into a war.”

Kanan nodded, hesitating before asking, “And the Bridgers?”

Hera pressed her lips together as she sat down in the pilot’s seat. “They’re staying. They said they didn’t want to abandon the Rebellion their son fought and died for. Rex is showing them around.”

Kanan winced at the mention of the clone. Their last conversation had not been pleasant, and the memory of it, even four months later, still made shame flood through Kanan’s heart. Clenching his fist, he ignored Hera’s mention of his former friend. She’d been trying to make the two of them make up, but Kanan knew that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

After a minute or so of uncomfortable silence, Kanan blurted what had been on his mind since he’d walked back into the _Ghost._ “What would I have to do to get put back on active duty?”

Hera started, looking surprised. “I… it’s not just up to me. You’d have to talk to Ahsoka and Commander Sato, and a medic would have to clear you. Why?”

Kanan huffed. “I can’t leave you, Zeb, and Sabine out there alone. If something happens to you because I’m not there…”

Hera’s expression changed in an instant. “That wasn’t your fault, love.” He just scoffed. _If only she knew…._ Hera sighed. “Why now?”

Kanan glanced up to meet her eyes. “Ahsoka talked to me.”

Hera smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “So she finally got something through your thick head.” Her joking voice was strained, and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “What’d she say?”

“That Ezra wouldn’t want me to stop fighting for what he died for. And she’s right,” Kanan sighed, swallowing. “Ezra died trying to stop the Empire, to protect the galaxy… and to protect our family. If I just abandon you… Hera, I let him down. I can’t do that again, not now that he’s gone.” As his voice broke, Hera reached over and set her hand on Kanan’s arm.

“He’d be proud of you,” she said softly before straightening. “I’ll talk to Sato and Ahsoka about it, okay?” 

Kanan nodded, staring out the cockpit window silently as she moved past him. Sighing, he sat back. The idea of going back out on missions made his stomach churn in fear, fear that he’d mess up again, but every time Zeb went out on a mission or Sabine missed a check-in, he died a bit inside. He could _not_ lose any more of his family. He’d hold on to them as tight as he could to make sure that at the end of the day, they all got home, even if he didn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> *Ducks head* sorry? Just bear in mind that there are still four more parts to the story before you bring out the pitchforks.


End file.
